Of Detectives and Spies
by Insert Kick Awesome Here
Summary: An internationally wanted spy showed up in the middle of the night at 221 B Baker Street. Sherlock wouldn't miss the chance to annoy his older brother but soon an even greater opportunity manifests. The chance to match wits with The Woman. Please review!
1. Midnight Snack

The only unlocked door on the street. The knob squeaked in protest as a delicate hand coaxed it to open. The flat was quiet, just the way it should be at four in the morning. From what she could distinguish, every available surface was cluttered with things. It would be tricky getting to the cupboards. Her bare feet tiptoed across the room to the kitchen, heading straight towards the pantry, avoiding anything that could make noise. The pantry door opened quietly enough but the contents made her empty stomach drop towards her feet. An old box of crackers, a moldy loaf of bread, and a can of peaches. Whoever lived here obviously had food elsewhere. They had to. No one could live on junk like that. She grabbed the peaches and stale crackers anyway, her stomach ruling over her better judgement.

Her ears caught the sound of deep breathing behind her. She turned quickly, swinging her right fist around to the space the breathing had come from. A long fingered hand redirected her momentum and slammed her face first into the wall, knocking the food loose. She was spun around and her hands pinned against the wall above her with a large black shoe stepping on both of her feet painfully hard. She struggled but it succeeded only in spreading around the blood oozing from her nose and mouth. The superior strength of her attacker kept her at bay. She stopped and examined the man in front of her. He was very pale, almost luminescent in the darkness with sculpted features, about six feet tall with a lean but muscular build. He was strangely still in a dress shirt and slacks, worn that day (obvious from the day's wrinkles). It occurred to her that he hadn't spoken yet. Why? He was supposed to ask what she was doing here. She scrutinized his face and realized that he was looking at her. Not at her face but all of her in a calm, detached manner.

"Interesting," he murmured finally, not easing up in his grip in the slightest.

She kept her mouth shut, not willing to give anything away.

He glanced at her, then continued. "It's obvious that you are a spy, so why don't you tell me your name, so I know who I am dealing with."

Her eyes widened slightly in surprise, but she kept her silence.

"Come now," he said impatiently. "The only reason I haven't called the police is because you are intriguing. So intrigue me."

"Melanie."

He snorted. "Your real name."

"Eliza Alden."

His eyes lit up with what could be characterized as excitement. This was not the usual reaction to her name, especially in Britain. "In the top five most wanted persons in at least twenty five countries, including this one. Ex-MI6, disappeared five years ago."

Eliza kept her face emotionless. "Who are you? How do you know those things?"

He came back from his mental vacation. "Sherlock. Sherlock Holmes."

Holmes. Panic rushed into her at the name. It wasn't at Sherlock Holmes, however, that brought on the reaction but one Mycroft Holmes. They couldn't be related but of course, they would be, knowing Eliza's luck.

"My brother is looking for you, you know," he continued conversationally. Ah, there it was. Eliza's hunch was right on the money.

"Let me go."

"Not an option. Unlike most of the people you encounter, I know what you are capable of."

Blood was still dripping from her nose, down her neck. "A tissue at least, to clean up my face."

He shook his head, looking lost in thought. "You could work..." Holmes mused.

She stopped paying attention to him and began concentrating on how to get out of his grasp. Her hands obviously weren't an option, but her feet might be. She would have to tear them out from under his foot though, which would hurt quite a bit. Maybe she would talk him up a bit, try and get him distracted enough to ease up on his hold.

"I need a temporary housekeeper. And you obviously need a place that has food and is away from the government. So you will stay here," he informed her.

She laughed out loud. "How do you figure that is a great arrangement? I am supposed to have murdered several people in cold blood and you want to try and imprison me here to do your cleaning? Plus, your brother is in the government. I refuse. Let me go."

He shook his head again. "How about a further incentive to stay?" He let her go, knowing full well that he had piqued her interest.

She grabbed a dish towel on the oven and put it to her nose and mouth, wiping the blood away as much as possible. "What is the incentive?"

"You think you are innocent of whatever it is MI6 has accused you of. Why else would you be back in London?" He did another one of those cursory glances of his and continued. "You were in the wilderness of Romania trying to help your case. You have been sneaking back to London to follow the trail but you haven't found what you are looking for yet. Nasty run in with an old fellow spy I see."

"How do you know all of this?" She was getting to ready to make a run for it. There was no way he should know any of that, other than the conflict with an old friend. The evidence of that was clear from her bandaged shoulder, clearly visible under her tank top.

"I am a consulting detective. The only one in the world."

This man was obviously crazy. He was taking shots in the dark and getting lucky was all. "Consulting detective? Sure."

"Romania. There are bits of wood and leaves all over your clothes and hair, especially the cuff of your shorts, with a few of the specimens being specific only to Romania. You are obviously a spy because everything about you denotes it. Very in shape body, lean muscle used to heavy abuse, ability to ignore intense pain, unintimidated in circumstances. Your pulse calmed down after our tussle, instead of escalating or remaining high like a normal person's would have. You wouldn't be sneaking back here if you had what you were looking for. You would either waltz back in or not show up at all." He sniffed the air. "You haven't showered for at least three days and since you are after food, it is quite obvious you haven't eaten decently since then either." The tall man swept to his favorite armchair in the living room and interlaced his fingers. He leaned back and closed his eyes. "I can find whatever evidence you need to clear your name, if you are indeed innocent."

Eliza rinsed out the towel in the kitchen and used it to clean her face one last time. "I need insurance that this isn't a set up."

Sherlock hummed a bit of Beethoven's 9th symphony as he thought. "I could give you something valuable of mine."

"You aren't attached to anything enough to make you stop doing what you want." It was her job to read people.

He cracked an eye open in approval. "Very good. I can't give you more insurance than my word. You have me interested in your case."

"I do not have a case."

"You do now."

She sighed and put down the towel, spitting the last bit of blood into the sink. Truth be told, she was tired of running. She was tired of being hunted and stabbed and shot at by the people she once worked for. And this man actually sounded like he knew what he was doing. He had read her like an open book. This was just too much of a risk though. She knew Mycroft personally and if he happened to stop by, he would recognize her.

"Also," Sherlock drawled, "I hate my brother."

Eliza walked over to him and crouched down in front of him. "You do realize that if you turn me over, I will be killed."

"Quite aware of it."

"And if you get involved, there is a good chance you could be killed as well."

"All the more interesting."

She sighed again. This was crazy. She wasn't really going to say yes. "Okay. I'll stay." Why  
didn't her mouth ever listen to her brain?

Sherlock grinned and jumped to his feet, startling her. "Excellent. I will finish my current case, then start on yours. And you can start on the kitchen."

"I am going to sleep first." She said it in a way that did not allow for negotiation.

"If you must." He grabbed his long trench coat and headed for the door.

"Mr. Holmes."

He turned around to face her.

"Thank you."

He scornfully sneered and left. "I want coffee ready by eight."

Eliza smiled hollowly. This could work, if he could do what he said he could.


	2. Morning After

Chapter 2: Morning After

"Wake up." A pen hit Eliza in the damaged shoulder, jarring her awake. "I want my coffee."

Sherlock was sitting across from her in a dressing gown, reading the morning paper.

She groaned and sat up. Her shoulder was throbbing painfully but she stumbled into the kitchen anyway. "Where is the coffee at?"

"How should I know?"

It wasn't in any of the cupboards or the pantry. She opened the fridge in case Sherlock had stored it in there. She was confronted with a disembodied head instead.

"The apartment below us has some."

She shrugged and ran downstairs to get it. Breaking into the apartment was simple and it made her wish she had just taken the extra effort to break into that one last night instead of going through the only unlocked door. She soon returned with the coffee. "I am going to use your shower while that is brewing."

He didn't show any sign of hearing her so she decided to go ahead.

John Watson woke the smell of fresh coffee. He sleepily followed the scent down the hallway to the living room, vaguely registering the sound of the shower. "Morning, Sherlock," he mumbled, pouring a cup of the life giving liquid. "Wait." If Sherlock was in the chair, who was in the shower? "Who is in the shower?" His question was ignored, so he snatched the paper away. "Sherlock, who is in the shower?"

"Internationally wanted criminal." He grabbed the paper back.

A moment later Eliza came out, dressed in a old shirt of Sherlock's. She made his coffee and handed it to him. "You didn't tell me you had a flatmate."

"Wasn't vital information."

"Was a little bit."

John's jaw dropped. "Who are you? Did you and he-"

She returned to the coffee pot to pour herself a cup. "My name is Melanie Griffiths and no," she said brightly.

"Truth. I could always turn you in."

So that was how it would be. Blackmail. Perfect. Just what she needed on top of everything else. Maybe it wasn't a good idea to stay here. "Eliza Alden. Former MI6 agent."

"How did you get here?" John was in shock. Sherlock never had women over. He had never been interested except for The Woman.

"I came through the unlocked door. You would do well to check that better in the future."  
John growled at that and glared at Sherlock. "I told you so." He glanced back at the woman. Every visible bit of her was toned muscle with various scars.

"Coffee for John. And do not bleed on my shirt," Sherlock ordered from his chair.

"She is bleeding? Sherlock! What did you do?" John rushed over to her as she poured another cup for him.

She handed him the cup which he immediately set on the table before shrugging the shirt off her bad shoulder, revealing a deep knife wound stitched haphazardly. It was hard to do stitches correctly on yourself in the dark without a proper thread and needle.

"I will get my things. Sit on the table please," John ordered, rushing back to his room.

As he left, she ran over to Sherlock, pulling down his paper. "This is not going to work. I am going to leave."

"No you won't." His icy blue eyes pierced into her.

"And why not?"

"Alexander Martin."

Eliza's entire body tensed at the name. "I see you have been working on my case."  
He nodded. "While you keep house, you must be entirely honest with me and with my partner."

"Partner?" Her eyebrow raised.

"I'm not gay! Quit making it sound like that, Sherlock," John snapped as he walked back into the room.

"Those are my only conditions. Which is fairly cheap considering what you gain out of me solving your case."

She studied him carefully. "Make this worth my while or you will regret it." It was a very genuine threat. She had practiced not leaving any witnesses for years now.

He nodded, taking the threat seriously. Sherlock was quite aware that she could kill him if she wanted to. He had been very lucky the first time they had met.

John stared at the two of them warily, waiting for the stand off to end. "Can I fix your shoulder please?" he broke the silence, holding up a needle and thread.

"Sure." She turned away from Sherlock, letting go of his paper with a jerk.

A few minutes later, Sherlock's sixth sense for a case tingled and he ran to the window.  
"Lestrade!" He jumped in the air and opened the door before taking a bored position on the couch.

"Who is Lestrade?" Eliza directed her question at John, who was carefully stitching up her wound..

"Detective Inspector of Scotland Yard."

She jumped off the table where she had been sitting, yanking the needle and thread out of John's hand and ran to Sherlock. "You said you wouldn't turn me in," she hissed dangerously. "You are going to get me killed!"

"He is not here to take you in. He is here to give me a case." Sherlock reached into the desk and handed her a revolver. "If he tries to arrest you, kill us all."

She took it and checked the bullets, verifying they were in working order. "Is anything wrong with this?"

John shook his head. He turned a bit paler as she aimed at him to test the balance.

"Very well. Finish my shoulder please." She came back to the table and handed him the needle.

He glanced at Sherlock then tightened his mouth. This was probably one of the worst situations Sherlock had ever gotten them into and he hadn't even so much as told John. Now a potential killer had his revolver and would kill them if Lestrade recognized her.

Lestrade burst into the room, completely oblivious to the tense situation. "Sherlock, we need you."

Sherlock waved him away. "Really, you couldn't solve the serial suicides by yourself? Scotland Yard is getting sloppy."

The graying man sighed and ran his hand through his hair. "There has been another one."

"Obvious."

"Anderson is not there."

Sherlock jumped up. "Let's go, John!"

"When I am finished!" Lestrade jumped as he saw the woman in a large dress shirt with a  
now profusely bleeding shoulder.

"What happened? Did she get attacked?" Lestrade rushed over to her to look at the wound.

"It's fine," she whimpered, mustering up tears. "I fell and hit a sharp piece of railing in a churchyard. John is my doctor and this was the closest place he could stitch me up." She cried out a bit as the needle entered her skin again.

Lestrade eyed her wound a bit before deciding her lie was plausible then addressed Sherlock again. "Be at the crime scene as soon as possible. I'll text you the address."

"Will do."

John finished the stitches and patted her shoulder with a wet cloth, clearing up the blood. He bandaged the shoulder cleanly. "That should do it. Don't do anything too crazy with that shoulder or else you could mess up all my hard work."

She saluted him smartly with her other hand. "Will do, sir." She bounced off the table and over to Sherlock. "I want to come with you."

"You can't. Especially dressed in my shirt," Sherlock pushed past her to his shoes.

"I'll get back into my clothes. I want to be sure you are as good as you say you are."

"Do you really think that it is a good idea to go into a place crawling with London police?" John called from his room as he got dressed.

She picked up her clothes from the corner of the room where she dumped them and went to the bathroom to change. "I have been places much worse. I can handle myself. Their detective inspector didn't recognize me, so I doubt anyone else will. My information is not exactly open to the average detective." She came out back in her slightly dirty clothes and looked at Sherlock curiously. "Except for you."

He shrugged. "Come if you want. I still expect the house to be cleaned up."

Eliza nodded at him.

John hurried out of his room. "Let's go."

"Victim is male. Serious mutilation to any identifying features. Like the others, we literally only have a body." Lestrade led the tall detective through the rooms to the body.

"Stop talking."

John and Eliza followed behind them. "Did you put the revolver back in my desk?" John whispered urgently. He hadn't had a chance to ask until now as Sherlock had insisted on complete silence on the way over.

"In a skin tight tank top. Where do you think I would hide it?" She held her arms out for inspection. "It is back in the drawer. Don't think I couldn't kill you without it though."

"Believe me, I am not going to underestimate you."

Sherlock bent down next to the body to inspect. Lestrade's inane chatter was easy to block out as he lifted the sheet off the body. It was not a pretty sight. The face had been torn completely off, revealing a skull. The teeth had also been knocked out, presumably to prevent identification through dental records. Fingers and toes burned to ruin the prints.

Lestrade began to speak. "We have taken DNA samples and they are being run through at the lab. There isn't anything else we can use to identify it." He wasn't joking. Any feature that could be used had been mutilated.

Eliza took a good look at the body, wondering what the detective could be seeing. "Ex-special ops," she realized outloud.

Lestrade jumped at the sound of her voice. "How do you know that? Why are you here? This is a crime scene!" He grabbed her by the uninjured arm and pulled her to the door.

"With me," John said quickly, grabbing her around the waist and pulling her against him. "Sorry Lestrade, she was just really curious."

He eyed her closely. "It takes a really sick person to be interested in this." He glanced at Sherlock, half expecting him to have heard. "Who are you?"

"I just started dating John," she offered, turning her face into his shoulder. She didn't have to try to pretend she was sickened by the sight of the body.

"I thought you said he was your doctor."

"That's how we met," she explained, putting her hand in John's.

Lestrade was not about to lose control of his crime scene. "Get her out, now. I don't need a civilian in here mucking things up." He glared until John pulled Eliza out into the hallway.

John awkwardly started to let go but Eliza leaned into him comfortably. "Don't act awkward or you will ruin the story," she hissed in his ear. He obeyed wordlessly, a tad bit worried about what Sherlock had gotten them into.

Sherlock's eyes had lit up at Eliza's words and he examined the body even more intensely. He stood quickly and walked out the door. John jogged after him, pulling Eliza along by the hand.

"Where are you going? Sherlock!" Lestrade sighed. At least he looked like he was on the scent of something.


	3. A Phone Call

"Molly. I need all the bodies of the recent serial killings, now." Eliza had noticed by this point that Sherlock had a way of striding into a room. It was like the very walls paid attention to him. Maybe it was because he paid attention to the walls. The woman in the morgue reacted to him just like everyone else but to the extreme. Her entire being oriented on him almost before he walked through the door.

She nodded at his instructions and scurried away to the back room full of bodies.

"What is her deal?" Eliza asked out loud.

"She obviously likes Sherlock," John replied, a hint of disdain directed towards Eliza in his voice.

"Obviously. I just don't know how anyone could, from what I have seen."

John turned on her, his face full of anger. "He does have feelings you know."

"Oh?" She followed the intensely focused Sherlock to the back room to look at the bodies.

John took ten deep breaths, like he did when Sherlock was being insufferable, before following.

"This is the first one. The DNA test identified him as Brent Austin, an accountant from Manchester," Molly Hooper hesitantly said, pulling the blue sheet off the body for Sherlock's inspection. "Would you- Would-" she stuttered. She took a deep breath then spat out, "Would you like to go for coffee sometime?"

"I already had coffee. Get the other bodies." He waved her away. Her face fell and she dragged herself to do as he ordered. Eliza turned back to John and made a 'that definitely proves my point' face. He just glared and came to examine the body as well.

"Ms. Alden. Who is this?" Sherlock leaned away from the body so she could look and scrutinized her face as she did so.

"Ex-Special Ops again."

"And these?"

Molly uncovered two more.

"Same."

"How?" Sherlock stood up, getting invasively close. She guessed that personal space norms were unknown to him when he was actually interested in something.

"Look at the parts of the body you can see. Muscle is toned. There is a patch on all the shoulders that has been cut out, normally where special forces men get a tattoo of their regiment. There are also pretty big scars for a normal person that are not burned. If I were the killer, I would have burned out major scars to prevent identification by anything but DNA which can be tampered with. Since there are big scars still there, that tells me that the burned out places were bigger scars." She pointed to each of the spots of the body she was talking about.

"Ones like this." Sherlock grazed a long, faint scar that came from behind her ear to her collarbone with his finger.

Molly's hurt gasp came out before she could stop it. He was touching someone. Touching a woman. And it wasn't her.

"Do not touch me ever again." Eliza's intensely dark blue eyes made an electrifying connection with his light blue ones. She was clearly not joking.

John cleared his throat. No reaction. He decided to break the silence. "As ironic as it would be to die in a morgue, let's not."

Eliza turned back to the bodies. "Someone has clearly messed with the DNA results."

"Clearly," Sherlock said dryly. "Molly, find out who did the tests. I will conduct my own now." He took hair samples from each body and carefully stored them in his coat. He swept out of the room, John on his heels.

Eliza waited until they left then addressed the emotionally unstable woman left in the room. "Molly, was it?"

"Yes," she mumbled. Molly recovered the bodies and put them in their respective lockers.

"Why are you so stuck on him?" Eliza helped her go about her chores. "He is absolutely awful to you."

Molly smiled weakly. "What are you talking about?"

The other woman just looked at her.

"I don't know. He is just... him."

"Ms. Alden." Sherlock popped his head back in the door. "Your job is to clean my house, not this place." He jerked his head in the direction of the exit. "Let's go."

She waved goodbye to Molly and headed after the detective.

John finished writing down some information on his computer screen. "That's the last one. She was right. They are all former SAS. Sherlock..."

"No."

John sighed. "I think you have to."

"No."

"I'm back," Eliza announced, walking through the door with an huge armful of shopping bags. The men looked up at her with complete surprise. "You... you didn't notice I left, did you."

"Not at all," John replied.

"Didn't matter. We had more important things to do." Sherlock stood up from his place at his microscope at the table and stretched his long limbs. "Stolen credit card?"

She nodded as she shifted the bags.

"Where are you going to put all that?" John asked, eyeing the bags. "We only have two rooms and they are taken."

"In Sherlock's room."

"WHAT?" Sherlock ran to his room and locked the door. "You aren't coming in. Go put it in John's room."

She walked calmly to the door and pulled a hair pin out of her hair to pick the lock. Eliza had it open in less than two seconds. Sherlock tried to shove her out but she grabbed his hand and slammed him down on the floor by his shoulder. He kicked her in the stomach, catapulting her over top of him into the side of the bed. She snarled and picked herself up again to attack.

"STOP IT!"

Both Eliza and Sherlock froze with fists in midair.

John stared at the pair of them incredulously. "What on earth do you think you are doing? Sherlock, that is my patient and you will not hurt her. Ms. Alden, leave my flatmate alone. It's just clothes. There is no need to kill people about it. Resolve your problems or I will resolve them for you." He let out an exasperated sigh. "Honestly, you two are acting like a pair of children!"

Eliza took a deep calming breath, channeling out all the anger and pain she was feeling. "I am sorry, Mr. Holmes. I just need somewhere to put my things while I am sitting here. If you can suggest a better place, let me know." She grabbed the bags and walked out of the room, stashing them in a corner of the living room before starting on the dishes.

John and Sherlock followed her. "Sherlock, you have to talk to him," John was insisting. "You know you do."

Sherlock was not hearing a word he was saying. He was instead deep in thought. "Eliza. Do you recognize these names?" He nicked John's laptop off the desk and pulled up the DNA test results.

She dried her hands on a dish towel and came over to look. Her eyes flicked through the names quickly. To John, it almost looked as if a switch had been flicked and she was in a sort of survival mode. "Call your brother. I need to go. Thanks for a place to crash for the night." Eliza quickly grabbed her shopping bags and pulled out a sturdy backpack.

"Who are they?" Sherlock insisted, following her with the laptop still in hand.

"This goes deeper than you thought. This is a matter for Mycroft, not you."

John inwardly groaned. That was possibly the worst thing to say. Now Sherlock would just pursue the matter more and drag them both into a whole lot of trouble they didn't need.

In a matter of minutes, every trace of her existence was erased from the flat. The doorway was blocked however by the persistent Sherlock.

"They were part of a special SAS unit that specialized in the removal of national threats. You should be able to find the next victims from a list of those men and women. Your brother will have it." She bowed her head sadly. "These were honorable men. See that they get justice." Eliza left 221 B Baker Street without another word or a backward glance.

John sat in stunned silence. He had a sneaking suspicion that the woman had known those men as more than acquaintances.

Sherlock wasted no time getting on the phone. "Brother, dear. How are you?"

"Sherlock! You can't just let her leave! She is an internationally wanted criminal!" John hissed, gesturing at the door.

"I didn't." He waved him away. "Mycroft. I need a list."


	4. Let's Have Dinner

"Excuse me, may I speak to the manager please?" A gorgeous brunette rapped her knuckles on the host's table. The small italian restaurant was tastefully furnished, the perfect romantic date place after a stroll in Trafalgar Square.

"Right away." He flashed her his best dazzling smile and jogged off. He returned a minute later and leaned on the table. "Now, while you are waiting for him, you have just enough time to give me your number."

She smiled. "Sorry, no mobile."

A plump italian man came out from the kitchen. "What can I do for you?' he asked with a thick italian accent.

"Did you have a Alexander Martin working for you? Sometime around five years ago." Eliza smiled at him brightly.

He thought hard and looked through some papers. "Sorry, no." He shrugged and went back to the kitchen.

She couldn't disguise her disappointment. "Thanks," she called half heartedly after him. Every once in awhile, it just felt like the weight of everything that had happened in her life fell down hard on her heart. It made her want to just give up and let herself be captured, by whomever wanted to. Why did she keep trying? She was never going to find him. The last five years of her life had been completely devoted to clearing her name and finding him. She didn't even know if he was- no. She couldn't afford to think like that. He was out there somewhere.

"Excuse me, miss." There was a tug on her coat by a young man, maybe 16 years old. "I knew him. He got me my job here. Are you Eliza Alden?"

She nodded, her heart beat accelerating rapidly. "I am."

He handed her a beat up grease stained envelope. "I've been carrying this around since he left four years ago." He cast a backward glance at his boss over his shoulder. "I have got to go. Bye." He scurried back to the main part of the restaurant.

Her hands were shaking visibly, holding onto the envelope. Eliza put it up to her nose and smelled it as she walked out of the restaurant. Tears welled up in her eyes. His smell wasn't there anymore; she was stupid to think it would be. She turned it over, caressing it with her fingers. He had touched this. He had wrote her name on the front. That had to mean something. She had to mean something.

"Ms. Alden," a familiar voice drawled in front of her.

Her head drooped wearily and she held out her wrists to Mycroft Holmes. "I almost found him. I almost found him."

"Arrest her."

"Sherlock! Are you listening?"

Mycroft's voice snapped him out of his thoughts. "Who is Alexander Martin?" Sherlock plucked at his violin strings, making discordant sounds.

Mycroft rubbed his temples, annoyed beyond reason by his younger brother. This was not something for him to be involved in. "The SAS serial murderer must be caught. If this person can catch the most deadly men in the country off guard and kill them brutally," he shook his head, "then this is a much more dangerous situation that we originally thought. I would request that you leave this one alone but I know you won't and I think you are the only who can find him." Mycroft handed him a list, which John took. "This is all the members of that elite unit. There are only two more alive and we have one in custody."

John jerked at one of the names on the list. "Sherlock." He handed him the paper and pointed.

Sherlock stared incredulously at John. "John, really. It was obvious."

"Where is she? What have you done with her?"

Mycroft sighed. "John, really, this isn't any of your concern. Nor is it Sherlock's. She is under careful guard in one of the most secure facilities in London." He snapped his fingers and a waiter brought over some tea. He carefully poured it for the three of them and sipped his daintily.

John was continually amazed with the brothers. They were talking about something that was bringing down the most dangerous people on earth in a most gruesome way and they were able to sip tea and get on with life. He grabbed his tea and paid careful attention to Sherlock. He had known him long enough to know behind his bored expression, there was an enormous amount of problem solving happening.

"You never answered my question, Mycroft. Who is Alexander Martin?" Sherlock leaned forward, focusing his intense energy on his brother.

"I don't know. Whoever he is, he isn't part of this case in any way."

Sherlock eyed him suspiciously. "So that is how it is. Come on, John. We are done here." He put down his tea and stood so abruptly that a waiter walking behind him jerked and spilled someone's tea on himself. "Thank you for being oh so helpful, brother. We'll be in touch." He swept out of the dining room and to the street before John even put his cup on the table.

"Keep an eye on him, John. I think he is getting worse." Mycroft was not affected by his younger brother the way everyone else was. Ever since they were little, he had been able to see through the histrionics meant to acquire information. Although he didn't buy into his brother's attitude, he was not above concern. Whether this concern was rooted in feeling or cold hard reasoning, no one would ever be sure.

John nodded. "Mrs. Hudson and I have been doing checks twice a week now. I just don't know what more I can do." He stood and put on his jacket. "I'll call you if anything gets worse."

Mycroft nodded and allowed him to leave. He had better things to be doing anyway.

"Dinner," a guard called as he slid a tray with nutritious glop through an opening similar to a mail slot.

Eliza didn't say anything. She didn't so much as move, sitting on the floor in the exact same position as she had for the last 16 hours.

"Anything?"

"Completely despondent, sir."

"Let me in to see her."

"I don't think that is a good idea, sir. You have no idea what she is capa-"

"Open it."

The door opened and footsteps came closer to her before stopping just behind her. The loud bang of the closing door echoed down the hall, causing some poor nut job on the floor to begin barking like mad. Mycroft sat on the unused cot, making the stiff springs squeak. "Hello."

No answer. Not even a difference in her breathing pattern.

"You realize you will be given the death sentence."

Nothing.

"What were you doing at my brother's?" Mycroft knew better than to expect an answer by this point. She was an expert at interrogation. She had been taught to ignore physical pain. But that wasn't the only kind of pain Mycroft was an expert at inflicting. "Tell me about Alex. Did he scream when you killed him? Probably not. He was a big tough man after all. But you went after his heart, didn't you? What did his eyes look like when he realized you were just manipulating him like every other man in your life?" Mycroft laughed. "We did train you well. He was completely fooled." He stood and strolled around the room. "You know, because of those government secrets he told you, hundreds of people have died. They aren't the deaths you hear about in the news, but they happened. I wouldn't expect you to care though."

Eliza did care. Her heart was ripping at his words. She didn't kill them. It wasn't really her, it couldn't be. Her job was to protect. And him... she didn't kill him. He was alive. He was waiting somewhere for her. She just had to find him.

"One of the men you killed? Had a puppy. Found it and nursed it to health. When he was killed, the dog stayed by his dead body until it was buried. To this day, I think it still lives at his graveside, leaving only to find food." Mycroft tapped the door with his umbrella. "You came back to finish the job. You knew my brother could find the rest of them and it would be simple from there, wouldn't it? Then everyone would be silenced. Nothing to trace back to you. Brilliant plan, really. Hiding right under my own nose."

Still nothing.

The door swung open and Mycroft turned back to her before leaving. "Have fun in your new home while it lasts. Your execution date is set for the day after tomorrow." He bowed to her and left.

The taxi screeched to a stop in front of 221 B Baker Street. Sherlock had the door open before it fully stopped and stepped out quickly. He waited impatiently as John fumbled with the keys to open the door. "Any day, John, there are interesting things happening in the world and we are missing them." John threw the door open and the two of them stepped inside. As Sherlock stepped on the first stair, an erotic moan sounded. Both men froze. They recognized the sound as a personalized text alert from a year ago. Sherlock slid his hand into his pocket and pulled out his phone. 'Another woman. Tsk, tsk, Mr. Holmes. Though I can understand the attraction. Let's talk about it over dinner. -IA'

"You said she was in America permanently."

John's eyes were wide in complete shock. "It can't be her. It just can't."

"Why, John?" Sherlock grabbed him by the shoulder and ripped him around to face him. "Why can't it be her? Because you thought she was beheaded in the Middle East and lied to me?" His fury at John was barely being contained. "You lied to me, John. I knew it when you first told me. You tried to spare my feelings when you very well know I don't put stock in anything as useless and wasteful as sentiment."

John stood like the soldier he was. "Say what you want, Sherlock. I know you better than you think. I would make the same decision every time."

"And you would be wrong every time." He growled the words as he bounded up the stairs and into his room, slamming the door hard enough to knock a picture off the wall. 'Let's have dinner. - SH'.


	5. Yes, Tonight

The entire floor was filled with violent psychiatric criminals, screaming awful things constantly. Eliza surmised Mycroft was passing her off as criminally insane to get her in the most secure facility closest to him. She wasn't drugged out of her mind though, which had to mean Mycroft wanted something from her, a confession. Even if she wanted to, Eliza wouldn't have been able to sleep. Every once in awhile, they would take up chanting something or another for who knows what reason. These psychos would help her make her escape though, help create chaos. It would definitely be unpleasant however. "Help..." she moaned, making her first noise and movement in the last 24 hours. "Help me! Please!" She began screaming the words in between cries of pain. "I don't feel well! Help me! Everything hurts, please!" she ran to the door, banging on it.

"What is it?" a guard yelled from the other side.

"Please! I feel sick, please! Hel-" She doubled over suddenly, giving her a chance to stick her finger in her mouth and trigger her gag reflex. Vomit came up violently, splashing on the floor at her feet. It wasn't hard to keep it coming up, emptying her stomach completely.

"I feel sick!"

"Help me!"

The psychos up and down the hall took up her scream and several were violently ill themselves.

"Get her out of there! Get her down to the medic!"

The door flung open and Eliza's hands were cuffed behind her back. She was dragged down the hall, coughing up stomach acid at this point. After the cuffs were removed, she was hoisted onto a bed and put in restraints. Three guards at the door, two by the bed and presumably one doctor. One last time, come on. She forced up vomit one more time and choked on it, since she was now tilted back. "What are you doing!?" The doctor cried as he readied his equipment. "Take off the restraints, lean her forward! She is choking!" Perfect. Two of the five guards did so immediately, replacing the restraints once more with handcuffs. Her body was shaking violently in reaction to her abuse. Eliza forced herself to stop throwing up and took deep breaths as she memorized everyone's position in the room. The doctor was coming with a sedation shot. It had to be now. With a twisted jerk, she pulled herself out of the guards' grasps and swiveled around to head butt one in the face, forcing shards of his now broken nose into his brain. She kneed the next in the groin, then the face when he doubled over. The doctor dove for her with the shot in hand as a bullet from one of the guards by the door flew past, puncturing a bag of IV fluid. Stepping to the side, she felt him fly past into another bed. His head hit the side bar hard, knocking him out.

The other guards had called for reinforcements and were advancing into the room. She dropped down next to the bodies of the incapacitated guards. One dead, the other severely injured. A painful stab of guilt shot through her. They were British, they were who she sought to protect once. They had families. She couldn't dwell on the one she had killed yet. Her handcuffed hands grabbed the gun off of one of the bodies and with a fantastic behind the back shot, hit the wire suspending a fluorescent light. It swung down, whacking one of the guards soundly in the temple though not hard enough for a knock out. Why weren't they shooting? The bodies of their comrades, she realized quickly. They didn't want to hit them on accident. The first bullet had been an impulsive, unthinking shot. She had to stop them somehow, without killing them. Her hands scrambled behind her, feeling all the pockets of the guard under her. Yes! A taser! There was another in the pocket of the other guard. Standing up immediately, she fired them into the two that the light missed then dashed across the room to finish the job of knocking out the third with a high kick to the temple.

Eliza slammed the door shut and locked it. Time to get rid of the handcuffs. She bent down like a pregnant woman and got a pinned on badge off a uniform. Within seconds, she was free. After shoving a chair under the door, she ran to the end of the long room, shooting out the window. She climbed onto the ledge and slid down along the side of the building, out of the light. Eliza took a deep breath and sighed. Alex still had to be out there somewhere. And this was just another part of finding him. This wasn't any worse than infiltrating the rebel camp in Syria to track him through the Middle East. Mentally, she cursed at herself. She shouldn't have given up to the elder Holmes so easily. Next time she wouldn't.

Now, to would be expecting her to go down. So time to go up. Her bare toes clung to the edges of the ledge as she inched towards a drainage pipe. At least her escape had been well timed. The darkness hid her as she shimmied upwards. However, her strength was about gone from the lack of sleep and food, plus the added strain of forcing herself to be sick. Just had to make it up the building.

Mycroft was being unsuccessfully interrogated by Sherlock (who had arrived only moments before) when the news of the breakout in the lower levels was reported to him. "I need every available sniper on the roof now! The grounds must have every other man patrolling as heavily armed as possible! Now!"

"Brother."

"Not now!"

Sherlock stood and grabbed his phone away from him and spoke into it. "Hold off for a few seconds."

Mycroft turned with barely controlled anger towards his brother. "You cannot do that."

Sherlock held away the phone. "She is the key to all of this. She has more information than any of us, and you want to execute her. That is much stupider than normal, Mycroft. She was not your mole all those years ago. Deep down, you have always known that. However, once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth. Isn't that right? You never eliminated every impossibility. Let her go. Let her find whatever she is looking for and then you will get your answer to the question of her innocence." Sherlock handed back his phone. "Make your decision."

Mycroft took his phone and analyzed his brother's words. "Resume normal patrols. You heard me. Normal patrols." He hung up and checked a text message that came in while he was talking. "You better be right, Sherlock. One more man has died tonight at the hands of this woman."

'The Woman is back. He is with her. What do I do? -JW'

'Nothing. - MH'.

Eliza clung to shadows, her eye on a line of security cars in the parking garage of the building. She had gone over top of the roof and slid down to the ground on another drainage pipe. It wasn't a coincidence that the guards had not raised the alarm further and caught her. Something had happened to protect her. Maybe Mycroft was starting to believe her. Time to steal a car.

In less than five minutes she had dispatched one of the drivers and dressed in his clothes (she had picked a daintier man to make the clothes fit better) with her hair tucked into the hat.

"Oi! You there!" An overweight security guard ambled out of his room filled with camera feeds from around the parking garage. "Go pick up a visitor at the main gate. Orders from on 'igh. Take 'im wherever 'e wants." Eliza nodded, keeping her head down as she pulled out of the garage. She drove the car to the front and parked, just long enough for the stranger to sweep into the car. That smell, she knew it.

"Drive, Ms. Alden. I have somewhere to be." The deep baritone voice confirmed it.

She did as Sherlock commanded. "Baker Street?"

"No. Hereford Road Restaurant please. I have a date."

She directed the car towards central London. "Why did you save me? Mycroft would have found me if he really wanted to."

Sherlock raised his eyebrows. "Good. You aren't a complete idiot."

"Tell me."

"Because I'm interested in your case. I told you that." Sherlock flicked his phone out of his pocket. 'There in 20 minutes. -SH'

Eliza focused on the road, fervently trying to figure his motives. And where to go from here. That letter had been the breakthrough she was looking for and now it was gone. Maybe she would just go back to the beginning, see what she could find.

"There was nothing in the letter of importance."

"You read it?" her voice sounded a little too calm, which made her seem all the more threatening. "I have waited for five years for that letter and you just-" she breathed deeply, calming her internal reactions to the rage she was feeling. "What did it say?"

"I will always love you. That was all. No encoded message whatsoever. Mycroft's people checked."

She took a deep breath, her few tears betraying her feelings. "Thank you. For everything this week."

"You seem to have the defect of caring as well as everyone else in this bloody world," he sneered. "No wonder you are in such trouble." He put his feet up on the middle console, his long legs extending almost to the radio. An erotic moan sounded and he checked his phone. 'Make sure your flat is empty. I can't wait to make you beg. -IA'

"Interesting text alert."

"Someone chose it for me."

Eliza smirked as she turned the corner. "John?"

"No. By the way, you never finished cleaning my flat. I would appreciate it if you would stop getting arrested and focus on cleaning." Sherlock decided to reply to Irene's text. 'John is out but my housekeeper will be home. And I never beg. -SH'

She laughed darkly. "I will get right on that. Because your dirty flat is the biggest of my problems right now."

"If you stay there, you have immunity from Mycroft. I can't guarantee the local police force but they don't know who you are. And I need it cleaned and that was the deal we made in exchange for me working on your case."

'Make Mrs. Hudson go to her own flat. -IA'

Eliza lifted an eyebrow. "We are still doing that then?"

"Yes." He quickly texted a reply. 'Mrs. Hudson is on holiday. -SH' "Turn here." The car rounded the corner and halted in front of the restaurant.

"What about John?"

"He is on a date. Make sure it is clean, and if you touch my cigarettes, I will have you killed." Sherlock stepped out of the car and slammed the door shut. Eliza shrugged and pointed her car towards 221 B Baker Street. If they were both out, it gave her an opportunity to clean up and put some food back into her empty stomach.

Sherlock warily made his way into the restaurant and was immediately escorted to a private table in the back.

"Sherlock Holmes. Long time, no sex." Irene Adler sat at the table, wearing a sexy scoop neck red dress with a slit up the thigh that she was fully utilizing. "Finally, we get to have dinner. I can't believe you made me wait a whole day for this." She stood and walked over to him, kissing him on the cheek. "Or we could just skip dinner and go straight to having fun."

He stood still as she kissed down his neck, staring at the wall in front of him. "Why are you here? We agreed that you would stay in Africa for a while."

She sighed and glided back to her seat, acknowledging that he wouldn't respond to her. "Africa was just so boring. Not enough scandal."

He took off his coat and hung it on a nearby coat rack before sitting across from her. "I'm sure you took care of that. Waiter," he flagged down nearby staff, "we'll have some white wine please." He took a second look at Irene and changed his mind. "Make it red."

"I did take care of it. But why talk business now?" She leaned across the table to caress the back of his hand. "Those lovely cheekbones..."

Sherlock cleared his throat, trying to get her to focus on his words. "Who is Alexander Martin? What do you know about him?"

Irene leaned back and pouted at him, refusing to answer the question. "You haven't seen me in a year and now you just want to talk? How disappointing. You know I am a woman of action. Harsh action."

He nodded to the returned waiter, indicating his permission to pour the wine. "For you," he handed the now full glass to her. She took it and swirled it around. "Answer my questions or we won't even get to dinner."

"Alexander Martin was quite the man if I remember. I knew him, knew what he liked." She sipped the wine as her bare foot slid up the bottom of one of Sherlock's pant legs. "Never gave me the information I would have liked, surprisingly. He did give me the name of the woman he really wanted to be sleeping with though. Eliza, I think it was. That's what he always screamed anyway." She stroked her own neckline, trying to draw his attention.

He looked down at her hands, not with appreciation but calculating observation. "Thank you for the information. Now, you need to get back to Africa."

She pouted at him. "I know you don't mean it."

"Don't I?" Sherlock's pale fingers contrasted hugely with the wine in his glass, as did his lips as he drank a bit. "Leave. Don't come back."

Irene's brief expression of deep pain revealed her thoughts more clearly than her words ever could. "The problem with Africa, is that it doesn't have a man like you."

He leaned in, taking her hand gently. "Caring is not an advantage, Ms. Adler. I tell you this time and time again, and yet you don't listen. I assume that is because of the very emotions I warn you about. I will never come with you. I will never say yes."

"You said yes tonight."

"I said yes tonight." His intensely blue eyes looked straight into hers.

Her stomach flipped and her breathing became shorter. She hadn't felt this way for years. No, just one year. The last time she had been around him. Her eyes closed and her lips found their way to his. That moment of contact was unlike anything either had experienced. Electrifying, warm. He was responding to her, finally. Everything about him, his taste, his smell, his feel was absolutely intoxicating. But too soon, he pulled away. "I can't just leave forever," she whispered. "Not without you."

"Caring is not an advantage." He stood and dropped a hundred pound note on the table. "Goodbye." Sherlock threw his coat over his shoulder and walked out.


	6. Sentiment and Cigarettes

_Sorry for the delay! Starting school and moving makes for less time… Thank you all for reading. Please rate and review!_

The apartment was even messier than before. How could two men create such a mess in such a short amount of time? Eliza had stopped by the grocery store on her way home and grabbed some food for herself, using another one of her stashed credit cards. After pushing a pile of papers off the couch, she turned on the tv and ate some food. Nothing about her in the news, which was perfect. Since she was starving, the food disappeared quickly and after a ten minute power nap, she was ready to work on cleaning. She would really need to put in some serious sleep soon though. She had only gotten about 3 hours in the last two days and her reactions were really beginning to lag. For protection, she got John's revolver from his desk and figured out a way to hook it into her belt, then began to clean.

When John walked through the door at two in the morning after a successful date, he thought he walked into the wrong place. "Hello? Sherlock?"

"He's not home yet. What do you need?" Eliza came around the corner, wiping her wet hands on a towel. She had been in the middle of doing dishes.

John frowned. "Excuse me, you are supposed to be in prison."

She shrugged as if she didn't know how she was there either. "Why don't you head to bed?"

"Oh right. It's not like there is a serial killer in my kitchen or anything," he mumbled, walking to the drawer he kept his revolver in.

"Sorry, I needed it." She held it up. "Don't worry though, your flatmate has made sure you two are safe. We are returning to the previous agreement of him taking my case and my keeping house." She gestured around the clean living room and dining room. "I had to throw a lot away, but it looks nice now."

"You threw things away!?" John ran to the desk where Sherlock had been keeping information on his last case. The pile of papers was completely gone, and now that he was looking, so was his laptop.

She laughed at his frantic searching. "I didn't really throw anything away, I just wanted to see your reaction. I filed Sherlock's papers and your laptop is in the top drawer."

"You... filed Sherlock's papers?" John stared at her in shock.

"Of course. You did know that he does that himself, don't you?" At John's bewildered expression, she went to the couch and pulled out a flat bin full of binders. "Its all categorized by case, as far as I can tell, in these binders. Then the ones on the bottom of bookshelf are random things of interest." She pushed it back under and pointed at the binders she was talking about. "That has no real organization as far as I can tell, so I just dumped it in and plan on blaming it on you." Eliza grinned at him.

John moaned. "He's going to kill me!"

"Knock, knock." Irene Adler rapped her knuckles on the door frame. "Hello, dear doctor. You are looking absolutely adorable as usual. And you, who are you? The latest in a string of heartbroken women?" She was still dressed in her red dress from the date with Sherlock.

Eliza stood next to John and took his hand. "I'm his girlfriend, yes."

John was bristling with territorial anger. "What are you doing here? Where is Sherlock?"

"Relax, darling." She slid into the apartment. "Just here to see her. I know you aren't John's girlfriend by the way." Irene circled the two of them, examining Eliza. "Now, who are you? I know you are familiar... Ah! Eliza, is it?" She directed her gaze toward John. "Interesting choice of housekeeper. Though very lovely, I can see that aspect clearly."

Eliza warily kept facing The Woman. She knew very well who Irene Adler was and just how dangerous she could be. What she didn't know was how much their circles overlapped.

"This is the second time you've come up today. I suppose I should be jealous." She pulled her phone from a clutch and replied to a message.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, first, he asked me about you in a roundabout way. Asked about Alexander Martin. Ooooh, he was fun." She leaned against the wall.

Eliza's eyes were full of barely contained anger, augmented by little sleep. "How do you know Alex?"

"How do I know anyone, dear? He wanted my very specialized services," The Woman gloated.

Eliza couldn't control herself any longer. She slammed Irene into the wall as hard as she could. "Where is he? Tell me now!"

In half a second, Eliza was lifted from behind and thrown across the room in a feat of almost superhuman strength. She slammed into the floor on her still injured shoulder. John was by her in a second and helped her up. Sherlock was standing protectively in front of Irene, glaring at Eliza.

"Irene. I told you to leave."

"I was extending the idea of your yes, darling." She reached for his hand, which he jerked out of the way. "You know you want me to make you beg," she whispered into his ear, biting his ear lobe gently.

"No. Leave, now." He grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her by it towards the door. "If you come back to London again, I will let Mycroft have you."

"At least say goodbye this time." Irene whispered the words as she turned to face Sherlock. Their eyes made that electric connection again, letting even the emotionally oblivious man realize the pain she had felt when he had rescued her from being beheaded and left as soon as she was safely tucked away without a second glance.

John felt like he was intruding on a very private moment. He wished he could let Sherlock just handle this but Eliza was bleeding again and had a gun. "Give me the gun," he said quietly, holding out his hand for it.

"I'm not going to do anything," she hissed as she put her hand over her wound, propped up painfully on the injured shoulder.

John didn't reply and continued holding out his hand. She wrenched the revolver out of her belt and slammed it into his hand. He put it out of her reach then eased her down to look at the wound.

Sherlock wasn't replying to Irene. He wasn't sure if he should.

"Please. Just say it this time." She reached for his hand and this time, he let her. "I'll leave, I promise. I'll misbehave elsewhere. I just need to hear it."

His fingers completely enveloped hers, transferring warmth. He seemed to be looking to see if this was some sort of trap. Very slightly, his thumb rubbed the top of her hand. "Goodbye, Irene Adler."

She nodded, keeping her face down. "I'll try to work on that sentiment defect. Goodbye, Sherlock Holmes." The Woman pulled her graceful hand out of his and walked out into the night.

He opened the window curtain to ascertain she got a cab and left. "John, I need a cigarette." Sherlock walked to the fireplace and stuck his hand up inside to retrieve a pack. After grabbing a lighter from the desk, he made his way to his room and locked the door behind him.

"This isn't good," John muttered, grabbing his medkit from the coffee table where he had left it the day before.

"It doesn't feel too bad," Eliza pointed out. "I think it just ripp-

"Not you!" John rarely raised his voice but his worry about his friend made it happen now. "Him. I need to call Mycroft." He quickly wrapped her shoulder in a bulky bandage. "I'll fix this better when it's bleeding less."

"Don't call Mycroft. What is going on?" Eliza sat up slowly, testing her body's reaction to make sure nothing was seriously wrong.

"Irene is the only woman of any importance to Sherlock as far as I know." John sat on the couch and ran his fingers through his hair. "He never smokes on a case. I just-" he sighed and put his head in his hands. "I can't help him when he is like this."

"Don't call Mycroft." Eliza stood and walked to Sherlock's room. It was a simple matter to unlock the door with a bobby pin and she walked in.

"Get out."

Eliza shut the door behind her and walked through the smoky haze to stand by the end of the bed. Sherlock was laying on the bed, sucking deeply on a cigarette. "I thought I said get out in English. Maybe not. Get out."

"John is worried."

"John should have come in himself if he was really worried."

Eliza walked to the pack of cigarettes, pulling one out for herself. "Light me." He did as she asked then resumed his own smoking. "What have you got on my case so far?"

He blew out smoke above their heads. "I got everything about what happened five years ago, and I know you didn't intentionally almost cause the downfall of the British Empire as we know it."

"You know, that didn't come out as reassuring as I thought it would." She walked back around the bed and laid on the the other pillow. "So, how are you going to help me clear my name?"

"The way you were going to do it. Find Alexander Martin. If he is alive, it completely changes the case. They will have to reexamine and we can go from there."

Eliza nodded and stared at the ceiling. After a few long moments of comfortable, smoky silence, she asked, "Why were you with Irene tonight?"

"The Woman." His chest rose and fell with another deep polluted breath. "I was investigating."

"That isn't everything."

"I don't see how it is any of your concern."

"If you are going to fall apart when she shows up and get distracted from my case, that makes it my concern." She laid back down, favoring her shoulder. "I'm obviously very emotionally invested in this case but I try not to let that interfere and I expect the same from you."

"This is you trying? I'm surprised you have any room for logic inside that sentimental brain of yours." His tone was not hurtful as much as it was observant.

Eliza chose not to be offended. "You miss a lot if you don't know how to have empathy for people. It's not quite the weakness you think it is." She folded her hands behind her head and crossed her feet.

Silence fell on the two of them again. John rapped on the door. "Sherlock, everything alright?"

Eliza waited for Sherlock to reply but he looked like he hadn't even heard the question. "It's fine, John. Go to bed." She reached over and snubbed out her cigarette in an ashtray.

John hesitated at the door. He couldn't leave Sherlock when he was like this. But he had actually let someone in the room. Someone he had thrown across the room less than fifteen minutes ago. He shook his head. Maybe he would be okay tonight. John had to be sure though. He gathered up all the potentially dangerous objects he could find like knives, certain chemicals and of course, his revolver and put them in a safe underneath his bed. It was sort of pointless though, because he knew that Sherlock could find it all and get to it if he really wanted to. He sighed and took a double dose of Valium.

Back in Sherlock's room, Eliza's serious lack of sleep was starting to take a toll. Sherlock's deep voice woke her from her light dozing. "Sentiment is a defect found in the losing side. And when The Woman is here, I am never sure that I am winning."

Eliza turned her head and looked at him. "So there is human in there somewhere."

He looked in surprise as she slipped her hand into his. This was different. This wasn't the way Irene held his hand. This felt different. Comforting, instead of unsettling. Comforting like John was when his brain was running itself raw. John grounded him so he didn't float away from reality and logic. He looked at her face which she had turned back up to the ceiling. Her eyes were closed and her breathing was already deepening as she fell asleep. He put out his cigarette and closed his eyes as well, though he wasn't going to sleep. He was going to his mind palace.


	7. A Hint

John woke the next morning to the sound of books being thrown violently on the floor. "John!" Sherlock burst through his door. "John, wake up. I can't find my papers that were on my desk. What did she do with them!?" Sherlock dived onto his stomach and started pulling out objects under John's bed. "They've got to be here somewhere..." He held up a lacy red bra. "Really, John? Who's was this? Jerrika or whatever the last one was?" He threw it across the room.

"That was Lydia's. Jerrika was three girlfriends ago, Sherlock." John threw off the covers and stood behind Sherlock. He grabbed him by the back of his shirt, pulling him away from the bed. "Why don't you go ask her?"

He sat up cross legged, putting the tips of his fingers together. "She's asleep."

"I was asleep!"

Sherlock waved his hand in a couldn't-care-less fashion and scrambled out of the room. "I was thinking in bed last night and realized I had seen the name Alexander Martin very recently which would give us an idea of where he could be. It was handwritten on a napkin somewhere... I know it's here somewhere, though I don't know why. I didn't keep it. I need it, John!"

John pulled on a shirt and followed him out to the living room. "Where are your cigarettes?"

"Back in their hiding place. I'll try to erase it from my hard drive." Sherlock rounded on his flatmate and grabbed his head. "Think, John! Where would she have put it?"

John swatted him away and headed for the coffee maker. "Go wake her up and ask if you are so desperate."

Sherlock ran to his door and snuck in, quietly shutting the door behind him. "Eliza," he whispered. No movement. He observed her for a moment. Her face and entire body seem softer, sleep smoothing out the worries of the day. Her hand was behind her under the pillow and that was what he was cautious about. "Eliza." Normal volume produced a violent reaction. In an instant, the woman was crouched on the bed with a knife in the hand that had been under the pillow. She realized it was just him and relaxed.

"What's going on?" Eliza rubbed the sleep from her eyes as she relaxed into a crossed legged sitting position.

"Where are my papers, the non-case related ones? I need them!" Sherlock was practically bouncing with nervous energy.

She stretched out and yawned. "Alright," she sighed, "Come on." He followed her like a puppy with a bladder problem into the living room. After rummaging through a couple binders, she pulled out an especially thick one. It landed with a thud on the desk and Sherlock had it open and was working through it in a matter of seconds. "Morning, John," she greeted, taking a cup of coffee from him. He nodded sleepily and went to his chair to check his blog's comments.

The three of them sat in silence, while Eliza read the paper and John was on his computer. Sherlock's fervor had not dampened a single bit after an hour of searching.

"Found it!" He jumped up, sending the chair crashing to the floor with an alarming bang, causing the other two to jump. "Look at this, now!" He ran over to Eliza and showed her a napkin with handwriting.

'Target in Nicaragua. Alexander Martin 020-5555-5667'

Eliza sat up excitedly. "That is a London area code. When and where did you find this?"

Sherlock's eyes were closed, his brows furrowed in deep concentration. Why was that napkin here? He didn't save it from anything. Irene's text alert went off and his eyes shot open in surprise.

'Did you find my little hint? Don't worry, I'm on my way to Dubai. Not Africa, but I got bored. You know how it is. You should come by. We could have dinner again. -IA'

He smiled and tossed his phone to Eliza on the couch. The Woman. "Call the number."

Eliza's hands were shaking as she dialed the number.

"Control your emotions," Sherlock demanded, flicking open the newspaper.

It was ringing.

"Hello?" A woman's voice.

Her heart dropped to her stomach but she persisted. "Is Alexander Martin there?"

"I think you have the wrong number."

Of course, he would be using an alias. He would be stupid not to. What was one of his favorites? "Sorry, I meant to ask for Adam Thorne."

"No, I think you still have the wrong number."

"Can I speak with the man of the house please?"

"He is in the shower. I can take a message if you'd like."

Eliza was struggling to keep her tone light and even. "No, I'll just call back later."

"Can I at least get a name?"

"Eliza."

The phone conversation ended and Eliza put down the phone. She put her elbows on her knees and leaned forward, trying to contain everything. She had finally found him, if this was the right number. But a woman had answered the phone. He hadn't waited for her to find him. He had moved on. The man she had worked for five years to find no longer wanted her. No, that couldn't be it. She was just overreacting. But what if it was true?

She put her face in her hands in despair.

John watched her carefully from across the room, waiting to see if Sherlock would even react to her. He would try to comfort her, but it wasn't his place to interfere.

Sherlock allowed her to have her moment for a while then spoke. "If you are quite finished," he began.

"Sherlock!" John barked. "Have some courtesy!"

Sherlock shot him an icy look and continued. "Let me remind you of your primary objective. We agreed that I would help you clear your name, and that is what I will do. Call back in a half an hour and get an address. We need him as proof that what happened five years ago didn't happen the way the government says it did." Sherlock sat down on the couch next to her, with the paper still in front of his face.

"I'm so sorry, Ms. Alden," John apologized for Sherlock as he put his laptop down and crossed the room to her. "He just doesn't understand-"

She gave him a cold, almost dead look. "He is right."

Sherlock smirked behind his paper.

His phone began to ring, showing the same number she had just called. "Pick it up," he ordered. She had frozen as soon as she recognized the number. "Now."

Eliza took a deep breath and put on an emotionless face. "Hello."

"Eliza!"

"Yes, who am I speaking to?"

"You know who it is!" The voice at the other end was so familiar. It was him. She had really done it. She had found him and there was another woman with him. "Listen, I only have about a minute before the door is going to be broken down. Meet me down at the little cafe we used to go to by Russell Square in an hour. I'm bringing someone along so get a table for three in the back." There was loud crashing noises coming from his end of the phone. "See you then, sweetheart." She could hear his handsome devil-may-care smile in his voice before he hung up.

"Is it him?" Sherlock asked, looking at her intently over his paper.

"Yes. It's him."

Sherlock jumped up excitedly, clapping his hands. "John, grab your revolver! We have a lunch date."

"No, you don't." Lestrade was leaning on the doorway. "The last man of the special ops unit has been killed, except for the woman." His eyes widened as he realized the woman was sitting on the couch. "You are supposed to be in prison. Sherlock," he said sharply, "What have you done?" Lestrade reached for his walkie talkie to call in backup but stopped at the sound of a gun cocking.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you. Where is Sam's body?" Eliza had gotten to the revolver before John.

Lestrade bravely stood tall, refusing to give any information.

"Don't worry, Lestrade. It was Detective Inspector Lestrade, right?" She stood up, keeping an eye on Sherlock and John as well as the man she was pointing the gun at.

"Give me the revolver, Eliza," John said softly, anger seeping into every word.

She shook her head. "I'm sorry, John. I can't do that. I need a guarantee that nothing is going to happen to me and it is my guarantee."

Sherlock made an exasperated noise. "I'm your guarantee. Just give him the gun and we will go look at the body." He walked in front of her and held out his hand for the gun. She willingly gave it over but kept his body between her and the man from Scotland Yard.

"Sherlock, you have to let me arrest her," Lestrade insisted, feeling much safer. "We got orders from Mycroft himself to bring her in if we saw her."

Sherlock gave him an icy look and handed John his gun. He swept past Lestrade with Eliza on his heels. John looked at Lestrade and shrugged.

Lestrade sighed. "Try to keep him under control on this one, John. Please. I have a feeling he is way out of his depth."

"I wish I could," John replied as he followed his flatmate out.

Eliza led the way into the morgue of St. Bart's, walking as quickly as she could. She had a lunch date that she was not going to miss. John waited until she got far enough ahead then pulled Sherlock into an empty room. "Sherlock, this is getting too dangerous. We are getting in over our heads."

"John." Sherlock gave him a soft look. "You can pull out of these cases if you want. I'm not going to force you to come."

"Of course I'm coming, you idiot," John replied. His voice was calm and even but full of conviction. "I just would rather not end up dead and I'm afraid that is exactly where we are headed."

Sherlock grinned at his one and only friend. "Isn't that where we are always heading? This is just our next adventure, John."

John sighed then smiled weakly. "Just make sure it isn't our last one, alright?" Sherlock nodded seriously then jogged down the hall to the morgue. John waited for a minute to let him get ahead and pulled out his phone. He opened a blank text to Mycroft, debating about whether to update him.

"John!" Sherlock's baritone voice echoed down the hall.

"Coming!" He put the phone in his pocket without sending anything and followed down the hall.

Molly's first words at the sight of Eliza were, "Oh. You are still with him." The disappointment was completely apparent to Eliza but was lost on the detective. "The body is over here." She led the way to sheet covered form and pulled it off. "Again, there isn't much to recognize him by." Sherlock pushed everyone away from the body and examined it closely.

"What was the name that the DNA test result spat out?" Eliza asked Molly, keeping an eye on Sherlock's investigation.

"I have the paperwork over here." Molly led her away from the body to have a look.

"John. Look at the body. There is something different about this one. What is it?"

John leaned down to inspect the body. Sherlock often liked to have him take a look at a crime scene to see how quickly John was catching on to his methods. "This man was taken apart in a different way," he realized.

"Good. How?"

"There was no torture, none that he experienced before death. All the mutilation came postmortem this time." John rechecked his facts and then nodded. "Why would the killer do that, if he did for every other one?"

Sherlock straightened and glanced at Eliza across the room. "Because the killer already got the information she needed."

John followed his look and put it together. "You think Eliza is doing this?"

"One of three options in my head, and definitely the most likely. We just need to make sure we go to lunch with her. That should provide more facts about the matter." Sherlock took another look at the body, making sure he had every detail stored away.

John wasn't sure how to take Sherlock's conclusion. It didn't surprise him, that was for sure. He had seen the grave, serious look she had when wielding his revolver. This was so different from shooting someone though. He would know. There was no way he could ever bring himself to this level of violence. His stomach dropped as he realized the near danger his friend had been in the night before. But the murder of this last man had happened during the night sometime, meaning she couldn't have done it. "Sherlock, you slept with her!"

That sentence carried across the room, filling in a silence in Eliza's and Molly's conversation. Molly's eyes looked up at Sherlock, hurt and shock in her teary eyes. "I've got to go," she muttered to Eliza before running out of the room.

"John!" Eliza reprimanded as she crossed the room to the two men. "Seriously? You know Molly is in love with him and you yell that? We didn't even do anything!"

John ignored her and looked at Sherlock, waiting for his answer.

"John, I wouldn't have said it if there wasn't a possibility that it happened." Sherlock replied to his thoughts. "Ready for lunch?"

John gave him a curious look, making a mental note to ask what he meant as soon as he got the chance.

Eliza noticed the conversation but didn't quite understand it. Obviously it was about her, but what exactly? Maybe Sherlock had found out more about what happened to Alex while she was looking for him, or maybe more about what happened five years ago. Either way, she decided not to pursue it. "You should come back later and clear up what you said with Molly," she told John.

"Why?" It was a genuine question from Sherlock.

John and Eliza both glanced at him. "I will," John confirmed.

"Let's go to lunch then."


	8. Alexander

**A/N: Sorry for the delay! It has been a crazy few months! Please enjoy and review!**

The taxi halted in front of the quaint diner that Eliza had directed it to and she turned to the two men squished next to her. "I have been thinking..." she said slowly. "I want to do this on my own. Please." This search had been her only goal for five years and she needed it to conclude now with just her and Alex.

Sherlock glanced at John and nodded. "We'll wait."

"Thank you. For everything." She grabbed his hand with both of hers and held it for a split second, then exited the car.

There was a moment of silence between the men as Sherlock shifted over towards the door.

"We aren't waiting here, are we?"

"No."

Eliza pushed open the door. "Hello," she was greeted by the hostess.

"Hi, I have a friend waiting for me?" She focused hard on her face, afraid to look around.

"Oh yes, they are in the back. Follow me."

They. That wasn't good. She followed her around the corner and she was directed to a booth. Eliza tried to muster up her courage. If it wasn't him, if there was another woman... her heart was already hurting. Her blue eyes looked straight to where the hostess and indicated and met with deep brown ones. "Alex."

The handsome man smiled at her. "Eliza." He indicated the seat across from him.

Eliza moved to sit down, her eyes now on the beautiful blonde next to him. "Who is this?" she asked cautiously, trying to glean any information she could from the woman's appearance. The jewels on her neck and in her ears were moderately expensive, but nothing that a well off man couldn't afford. Her nails were perfectly manicured and her dress a little too short for the time of year.

"This is Kate. It's safe to talk in front of her." He offered no further explanation.

So that was how it was going to be. No explanation, no revelation of their feelings in the past, barely any familiarity at all. Her entire body was numb but her brain overruled her heart and kept her rational. "I need you to testify for me, get me off the most wanted list."

Alex quirked one of his eyebrows. "Why would they believe me? They think you brainwashed me somehow before you killed me."

"You are the only one who knows what really happened besides me. They think you are dead. That should be proof enough that I didn't do all they said I did." Eliza kept an eye on Kate, who was texting on her phone. "Plus there is more to this story. Our entire unit from that job is dead. You and I are next. The sooner you confess to being alive, the sooner we can get the protection we need."

Alex leaned back. "I don't think we can do that. Kate, check the schedule," he drawled. "See if we have time for this."

The woman tapped a few things on her phone then shook her head. "Sorry, we are booked until July."

Eliza could not believe what was happening. This was not how this meeting was supposed to go. "Alex."

"Can you do July?"

She sighed and looked down. "Alex, please, listen to me."

"Then talk."

"Sherlock," John jogged down the alleyway after him to the back of the restaurant. "Sherlock!"

Sherlock stopped suddenly and turned around, causing John to run into him. "What is it?" he demanded impatiently.

John backed up then asked the question that had been gnawing at him. "What happened five years ago?"

Sherlock glanced at the back door hurriedly. "John, we need to see what is going on!"

He grabbed Sherlock's arm. "I need to know, Sherlock."

Sherlock evaluated John's expression then moved to a location where he could just see Eliza through a window, though not the people she was conversing with. "Very well. Five years ago, there was a secret unit called Delta 904, composed entirely of SAS men. They were needed for a mission designed to infiltrate and acquire information about the most powerful countries in the world. In that mission they discovered a plot by Middle Eastern and North Korean dictators to assassinate nearly every major world power leader at a very prominent UN banquet located in Paris. The repercussions of that would be immense."

John's eyes widened with shock as he took in the information. "That would have sparked the next world war," he said, more to himself than Sherlock.

"Exactly. And they were prepared to make that a nuclear world war. Since that hasn't happened, you might guess that Delta 904 was successful. A good deal of that success was from the actions of one Eliza Alden and one Alexander Martin, both of whom were additions from MI6 to Delta 904. Both had key positions that allowed them to manipulate and ultimately assassinate the ringleaders of the plot."

"So how come Eliza is under such fire now?"

"I'm getting to that," Sherlock replied impatiently. "Near the end, Martin's cover was blown. The last recorded message they found from him was a message to Eliza saying he loved her and would do anything for her and he had decided to do 'it', whatever 'it was. On the day when Alex's cover was blown, all of the members of Delta 904 were captured and tortured for information, except for Eliza. According to the report I glanced at, three of the men overheard the leaders commending her for letting them know of the spies in their midst. Alex was executed in front of them to make an example. Later that night, the rest of the unit made a daring escape in the middle of the night, except for two men who killed the leaders of the plot. Those men were killed before escaping. No one ever knew what became of Eliza. The men looked for her but as far as anyone knows they were unsuccessful." Sherlock was practically bouncing in anticipation. He wanted to be inside listening in and he wanted John to know it. "There was an extensive top secret investigation into the incident which turned up more damning evidence against Ms. Alden. Can we go inside now?"

John was still reeling a bit from the information he had just heard, but he nodded. "Let's go." He then thought of the other question he wanted to ask. "I thought that Eliza was in your room all night with you. How could she have snuck out without you noticing?"

Sherlock was walking backwards to the back entrance as he replied. "I smoked for about two hours then went into the living room to dig up what I could on Alexander Martin in my mind palace. She could have easily gone out my bedroom window and been back by morning."

"Ah." John nodded and was satisfied for now. He followed his eager friend into the cafe.

Eliza didn't betray any sign that she recognized the two men who slid into the booth just behind Alex. "Alex, you have to believe me. Someone is really coming back to kill everyone. Bosh, Seth, all of them. They are all dead."

Alex was finishing up his plate of fish and chips and waved for a waitress to come take his plate away. His smirk which had been present for their whole conversation was now gone and he leaned forward intently. "Eliza. Enough. We are over. You know we are. I am not interested in becoming involved with that part of my life again. Kate, here," he jerked his thumb towards the bored woman, "Has helped me maintain a new identity, which I have no intention of jeopardizing. I did not ask for you back. Don't you think that if I wanted you, I would have let you find me before now?" He sneered at her as he leaned back and put his arm around Kate's waist.

Sherlock cleared his throat and spoke loudly to a waitress. "Yes, my purpose in coming here was to get some answers. Can you get them?" It was obvious that he was really speaking to Eliza.

John laughed nervously and covered up for his friend's strange, intense behavior. "Yes, we had a few questions about the menu..."

"Why does Irene Adler know you?" Eliza asked, ignoring the pain in her chest. Everything he had been saying hurt her deeply but Sherlock was right. She couldn't afford to be distracted now.

Kate finally looked up from her phone and touched Alex's shoulder. "We must be going. Don't try to find me again Eliza. And consider yourself lucky that we haven't called the police on you."

They got up and left after paying their bill at the front. Eliza put her head down on the table and focused on keeping her emotions in check. Her ears picked up the conversation being had by John and Sherlock. "You recognized Kate, didn't y-"

"Of course I did," Sherlock snapped.

"Irene is involved much more heavily than we thought."

Irene's text alert sounded and Sherlock checked the text before it stopped.

"So," John said matter-of-factly as he rose from his seat. "What do we do now?"

"We keep going. I can make him talk." Eliza stood up and walked over to them, missing the significant look the men exchanged. It had already occurred to them that the only reason that Alex was still alive was because she believed he loved her still. "Who is Kate?"

Sherlock left it up to John to answer, in no mood to reveal anything about Irene at the moment. Instead, he strode towards the door, leaving a few pounds on the table for the waitress and their tea.

"Kate was Irene's lover for a while. I don't know if she still is or not," John explained hurriedly as he followed his friend out.

The three of them stopped on the sidewalk out front. "You and Eliza dig up what you can on what Mr. Martin has been doing for the last five years. I need to work on our other case and get Lestrade off my back," Sherlock directed. He hailed a taxi and glanced at John.

John nodded. "Be careful."

Sherlock flashed him a smile. "Ah, but careful is boring." He got in the cab and it drove away.

"Alright," he said, turning to the spy. "Did you notice anything about where he could have been for the last five years? Anything at all?"

She gave him a dirty look. "Of course I did. I'm not blind. His suit was made in a store on the Champs Elysees in Paris. It is well worn, so I assume he doesn't have the funding to get another to maintain his image. He had his gun on him, which means he is still being very cautious."

"Very cautious?"

"A man like him could kill you with his bare hands. He doesn't need a gun, not unless he is really worried about being attacked," she explained. Eliza closed her eyes, trying to remember more minute details. "There was a business card halfway out of his pocket, for a lawyer, not sure which kind. The last name was White and the first name ended in the letter S."

John got his phone and began dialing Lestrade. "We'll see what information our Scotland Yard friends can get us on that." If Sherlock was a master at observing facts, John Watson was one at observing emotions, except for his girlfriends it seemed. He could practically see the struggle Eliza was having making the choice to choose between the man she loved who no longer wanted her and using him to gain her own freedom. The goal she had worked five years towards was now unachievable. Instinctively, he knew that she operated very similarly to Sherlock and made the decision to treat her the way he treated Sherlock when he was incapacitated by the rare emotion. "Focus. Was there anything else? What options do we have? Keep thinking," he urged. Keep her mind engaged and there was no room for her heart to interfere.


End file.
